


Somnium

by ilovejared



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mindfuck, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Torture, Wincest - Freeform, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 16:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovejared/pseuds/ilovejared
Summary: Prompt was "A greasy pork sandwich served up in a dirty ashtray." This is a Season 12 take on THAT scene from Playthings.





	Somnium

The slight sound of his bedroom door being slowly pushed open was enough to wake Dean from his uneasy slumber. He tensed for a moment until he recognized the figure standing in the doorway.

“Sam?”

Dean raised his eyebrows as his brother stumbled into the room nearly tripping over the rug just inside of the door. Sam righted himself then sank slowly onto the foot of the bed.

Brushing his hair back from his forehead with a shaky hand, Sam mumbled, “ ‘m fine, Dean. Jus’ fine.”

Wrinkling his nose, Dean whistled. “Jeez, Sammy. Did you leave any whiskey in the bunker?”

Sam squinted blearily as Dean sat up and switched on a lamp. “The fuck, Dean!” He turned away, swiping one arm over his eyes, before continuing softly.

“Don’t want you to see me like this.” He rubbed at his eyes again and the gesture reminded Dean of a much smaller Sam who used to try to hide when he cried so his tough big brother wouldn’t see.

Throwing off his blanket, Dean slid closer to his brother. to Sam. Dean laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Sam, what’s going on?” Dean was kicking himself mentally. He had been so caught up in Mom being alive and then Mom leaving, that he hadn’t paid attention to what Sam was going through. What he had been put through by those fucking British MoL’s bitches.

Sam shrugged Dean’s hand away and stood again, swaying slightly as he looked down at this brother. He seemed unaware of the tears that had begun to fall from red-rimmed eyes. These weren’t the first tears Sam had shed today.

“You don’t know, Dean. You don’t know what she did.” 

“Then, talk to me, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was gruff as he continued, “I”m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I”m sorry I didn’t find you before they hurt you.”

Sam shook his head violently. “No. Don’t do that, Dean. You were saving the world.” He sank to his knees in front of Dean, cradling his brother’s face in his hands. “You did save the world. You should be dead, Dean.”

“Sammy, I told you what happened.”

Sam continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “And, Mom? Being alive? The both of you? It’s too much.”

Dropping his hands from Dean’s face, Sam looked down, his hair a sleek curtain, obscuring his face. In a voice so low Dean had to lean forward to hear him, he began to speak.

“I can stand the physical torture, Dean.” His words were matter-of-fact, like this was the norm for everyone. “I’ve had lots of time to learn how to endure pain.” He paused and pressed his fingers against his eyes, as if he was trying to clear them.

When Sam finally looked up, Dean caught his breath at the sadness he saw in his little brother’s eyes. 

All he had ever wanted to do was protect Sam from all the bad in the world and he had failed miserably. Again.

Sam’s next words had Dean on his feet, reaching up to clutch his brother’s hand and place it over his heart.

“What I can’t take is when I can’t tell what’s real. When it’s all up here.” He pounded his fist against his forehead for emphasis.”Are you real, Dean? Is any of this, real?”

Pressing Sam’s hand tight over his chest, so that he could feel Dean’s racing heart, Dean demanded, “Can you feel that, Sammy? I’m alive. I’m real. What can I do to prove it to you?” His voice softened as he brushed his lips against Sam’s knuckles.

“Tell me what happened, Sam. What did she do to you?”

Taking a shaky breath, Sam withdrew his hand, lightly rubbing the skin that Dean’s lips had touched.

With a heavy sigh, Sam sat again, now looking everywhere but at his brother.

“I need another drink. I’m gonna go….” His attempt to stand was blocked quickly and firmly by Dean.

“I think you’ve had enough, Sammy.” He knelt between Sam’s legs, bracing his hands on either side of his thighs so that Sam couldn’t go anywhere. “Now tell me what’s going on. Please.”

Sighing again, Sam began speaking. And with each word that fell from his brother’s lips, Dean felt rage, pure and unadulterated, build, until his temples were pounding.

“The first time she used drugs. Everywhere I turned, I saw the people I loved, dying. Mom. Jess. You.” He paused, trying to blink back tears that had ceased but now threatened to fall again. “And I heard you, Dean. Your voice telling me that I was a freak and that it was all my fault.”

“Sammy….”, Dean whispered, “You know that isn’t true.”

Sam continued as if he hadn’t heard. 

“The second time, it must have been a spell. I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to steady himself but still his voice shook.

“It felt real. She felt real, it all did. And it was warm and, for just a minute, I felt safe.” He looked at Dean and his eyes were filled with self-loathing. With shame.

“It felt so good, Dean. I couldn’t….I couldn’t help myself.” His voice took on a pleading note. “Please believe me, Dean. I couldn’t help it. She was in my mind and I didn’t have any control.” Closing his eyes, Sam whispered, “I couldn’t control my own body, Dean. I couldn’t.”

Dean touched Sam’s cheek, stroking gently as Sam gasped out the last few words.

“I woke up and she asked me if it was good for me.“ Wrapping his arms around his body, Sam began to shiver.

“I didn’t mean to, Dean. I couldn’t help myself. You understand, right?”

“God, Sammy. I’m so sorry. I should have emptied my clip into that fucking bitch.”

He lifted his hand to palm Sam’s cheek and Sam leaned into the touch, a bittersweet smile on his lips.

“Don’t you get it, Dean? How can I know this is real? That you’re real? What if she’s just trying another, better, spell?” His voice broke as he looked into Dean’s worried eyes. “If this is a hallucination, I hope I never wake up. I can’t do it again, Dean. I can’t wake up in chains again and know that you’re dead.”

Tucking a stray lock of hair behind Sam’s ear, Dean slipped his fingers through the strands until his palm rested lightly on Sam’s neck.

He leaned forward slowly, giving Sam time, if he wanted to say no, if he wanted to pull back.

Sam’s breathing was heavy and his hands clutched at Dean’s biceps, as if he was holding on for dear life.

Then were lips were mere millimeters apart, and Dean could smell the bourbon Sam had drunk trying to forget. 

Always to forget.

But Dean wanted Sam to remember what they were like together, what they had been, what they could be.

“I’m here, Sammy. I”m here. I promise you I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to disappear.” Dean smiled before he touched his lips to Sam’s.

“Nothing that’s happened to you is your fault, Sammy. Nothing could make me love you less. You’ll never be rid of me, little brother.”

It had been a while since they had touched at all, much less kissed or anything more. Sam had been gone and they had to deal with their mother’s resurrection and subsequent departure. Then they had both been lost and hurting and dealing with their own demons.

I should have gone to him earlier, Dean thought. Why didn’t I?

It didn’t matter. They could make up for lost time. Hadn’t Dean told their mother just two days ago that all they had ever had was each other?

This kiss was unlike any other they had shared after one of them had made their way back from death or something like it. Their lips met and it was soft and slow and sweet, like it hadn’t been since Sam was fifteen and Dean would let him take the lead, not wanting to pressure him, wanting to let Sam dictate where their relationship would go.

Sam’s tongue swiped along the seam of Dean’s lips and his mouth parted willingly, allowing Sam to deepen the kiss. They took their time, exploring, tasting, reacquainting themselves with the feel of being so close to one another.

Sam pulled back, resting his forehead against Dean’s. With a shaky laugh, he said, “I’m dizzy. Dammit.”

Dean pulled him up gently. “Don’t my kisses always make you dizzy.” Sam laughed, then grimaced at the pounding in his head.

“Come on, sasquatch. Let’s get you to bed.” Sam started to protest and Dean kissed him hard on the mouth.

“My bed. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

He pushed and prodded, maneuvering Sam as if he was a child until he had him undressed and under the covers. Removing his own clothes, Dean climbed in next to him and gathered him in his arms.

Sam snuggled close to Dean’s side, long limbs draped over his brother’s and in five minutes he was snoring lightly.

Dean chuckled and kissed the top of Sam’s head.

“You’re gonna feel like shit tomorrow, little brother, but I’ll nurse you through it.” He pulled Sam tight against him, causing Sam to mutter in his slumber.

“And then, I’ll remind you of just how beautiful you will always be to me.”


End file.
